Becoming Something More
by Soxman
Summary: AU. Without Remus Lupin in his compartment, Harry Potter's entire universe has been turned upside down. Now, knowing his destiny, and armed with Voldemort's memories, he must prepare for the eventual return of the Dark Lord. New Version
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is the start of a revision of the Becoming Something More. This fic finds its influences in Jbern's _The Lie I Lived_ and Myst Shadow's _Forging The Sword_. The original was too dark, had a Harry who was too OOC, and was just too boring and convoluted. Or so I think; I'm going to keep the original up for a period so that anyone curious can compare and contrast. Anyway, I've made several changes in this revision, including Harry's accessing of Voldemort's memories, his relationships with people around him, and Voldemort himself. It is pretty much an entirely new fic incorporating some of the concepts and ideas of the old one. At the end of the day, I like this new version a lot better, so I hope you all stick with me on this. I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy.

Prologue: The Kiss of Death

_"There's something moving out there," Said Ron. "I think people are coming aboard..." - pg. 82 of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._

And then, the compartment door opened, as someone else entered. Harry could only barely make out a cloaked figure towering to the ceiling through its outline in darkness. The lights had already been off for a good ten minutes, and Ginny and Neville had come into their compartment in search of news as to what was going on. Not like they knew any better, though. Harry saw that the face of the cloaked figure was hidden beneath its long black hood. His eyes darted downward, and to his horror, there was a grayish, slimy-looking, scabbed hand, looking like something dead that had decayed for a long period in water…

It must have sensed Harry's gaze, because the figure pulled the hand back into its black cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as if it were trying to suck the air and more from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest as the cold went deeper than skin, burrowing inside his chest, inside his very heart… almost like a blizzard in their compartment.

Harry's eyes rolled up into his head and he couldn't see. He felt like he was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears like the sound of water and he was being dragged downwards, the roaring of the water growing louder…

And then from far way, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams.

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you foolish girl… stand aside now…"_

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"_

_"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy!" (pg. 179 of POA)_

The dementor, sensing a meal, overcome with primal hunger, hovered over him, as if considering. Finally, as if reaching a decision, it swiftly drew back its hood as it bent down to press its cold, clammy, scaly, rotted face to Harry's. Harry tried to resist; tried to subconsciously squirm out of its grasp, as if he could sense what it wanted. But the Dementor would not be denied its appetizing delicacy, and as it began to feed, Harry finally lost his battle with consciousness and knew no more.

It was the shouting that awoke him. He had absolutely no idea about what was going. And he didn't really care- he wanted nothing more but for them to stop shouting so he could go back to sleep. He lay on his back, breathing heavily for a few minutes, hovering between exhaustion and curiosity. But curiosity about what was going on got the better of him as he struggled to stay awake just a few seconds more.

"…..…Change in…prognosis Poppy….."

"…...here, Dumbledore…... –Ved… can't aff….."

"Corneli... power… my position….. failed."

"Don't tell….. political….. recover….. unacceptable!"

"Perhaps….. vigilant… fault…. lies….administration!"

"Headmaster… Kissed… no hope."

"…..signs…..recovery…unheard of…. possible."

Well, that was useless. Tired of listening to what seemed like a badly tuned radio, still feeling rather weak and lethargic, and aching all over- though he hadn't the foggiest idea as to why that should be-, Harry turned over and went back to sleep.

Only to awakened once more a few seconds later. Or what felt like just a few seconds later. In reality, though this was unknown to him at the time, it was actually a full day later. Not that it felt any different; the only noticeable difference was that the argument had apparently ceased. Thank Merlin.

Feeling quite a bit less achy and weak, Harry sat up in his bed and glanced over to his bedside table. He froze as he stared at it; that was… a lot of candy. A lot of candy. From his position on the bed, it looked like a mountain. Perhaps it was simply because he could barely see it with how dark it was. Or maybe that was because his eyesight was so poor. But then again, he'd only ever received a mountain of candy like this after protecting the stone from…... wow, what on earth had happened to him this time!

He shook his head, a slight smile gracing his face. Well, whatever it was, he was fine now. Except for the fact that he felt really stiff and uncomfortable, but that was an unfortunate side effect of being injured that he'd discovered during his previous visits to the Hospital Wing. He began slowly moving his head, trying to roll his neck to get the stiffness out of his system. With a groan after a few minutes of stretching, he realized that he felt even stiffer and more uncomfortable than when he'd started. Well, at least he wasn't dea… why was he thinking like that?

And… why did he feel so odd all of a sudden? Come to think of it… he felt lighter… happier… like a heavy load had been lifted off his chest. And… he carefully lifted up his hand to his forehead… why wasn't his scar twitching? As long as he could remember, there had always been a slight burning centered around his scar. Perhaps an odd twitch there every now and then; just a minor annoyance. But now… well, it just felt so different. Like… his scar had lost a part of it that it always had- the part the weighed him down. It felt better beyond words. But it was just so…. weird.

Looking around, Harry finally located the outline of his glasses and put them on to bring the darkened Hospital Wing into view. He glanced around the curtain- why was there a curtain?- separating his bed from the rest of the Wing to see that there were no other occupants. Maybe he should just get up and find Madam Pomfrey to see if he could leave. But before he got up, a stray thought wandered into his mind. _Why was he even here_?

He vaguely remembered feeling weak all over, and the heated argument he'd overheard. And then he remembered, vividly as if he were back there: _it drew back its hood, and bent down to press its cold, clammy, scaly, rotted face to Harry's_. What was that thing! What had it done to him? It must have been pretty bad considering he was in the Hospital Wing. And why could he recall it so vividly, as if he was back in the moment? Well, whatever it had done to him, he felt fine now.

Actually, scratch that. He tried to stand and his legs fell out from under him. And once again he felt really tired. He must have been in worse shape than he thought. Well, there was nothing else for it but to give in to his body's vociferous demands and lie back down. He only barely managed to return his glasses to the night table, and that alone left him feeling exhausted. So much for feeling fine.

Breathing heavily, Harry stared at the ceiling, just thinking. He had no idea what was going on. He had apparently been attacked by… something. He had a literal mountain of candy, which made him think that whatever had happened must have been quite serious. And he still felt really… weird. Almost like he was euphorically happy; it was like a kind of inner joy that would never fade away. But he had absolutely no reason to feel like that; he'd after all been put back in the dreaded Hospital Wing after all. One final thought pierced Harry's consciousness as he drifted off once again that brought it all together nicely; 'what was going on?'

Once again, he awoke what only felt like seconds later. This time, he knew he was wrong simply because of the amount of glowing sunlight flooding the Wing. Once again, Harry stretched his neck, and this time he found that there was much less resistance. After a few seconds of stretching- he really felt so much better now- he swung his legs out from under the covers and slowly began trying to stand. To be fair, it took him a few attempts, but by the fourth time, he could finally stand upright, despite the protests his legs gave, without clinging to anything around him. Now where had Madam Pomfrey gotten too?

Slowly, he began hobbling past the curtains. Once again, he noticed that no one else was in the Wing. Odd. From the times he'd been here, he knew that there was always someone who'd come down with something stuck here. Shrugging, he began limping over to her office, wincing in pain with the first few steps he took. Though it did seem to get easier to move after that. Thank Merlin. Finally making his way to the door after what must have been the most taxing walk he ever took, he knocked.

He heard the dull scraping of a chair, the faint sounds of movement, and finally the door opened, and Madam Pomfrey looked out to see who was knocking. Only for her mouth to fall open at when she laid eyes upon Harry. 'Gee, that's a good sign' he thought dryly.

"Mr… Mr. Potter," She whispered, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch his forehead. Awkward.

"Um, Madam Pomfrey…?"

She ignored his protest as she pulled back her hand and simply stared at him, almost as if he was a ghost. She faintly pulled her wand and flicked it a few times in Harry's direction. Finally, as she received the results she was looking for, she let her wand drop and grasped him in a hug.

"You're alive!" She proclaimed wondrously, joyously, as if the statement had a melodic quality. "You're alive!"

"Gerroffome!" Harry broke free of the hug and retreated away. "Stay back! I'm armed! Er…" He glanced back at the curtains where he'd apparently forgotten his wand. But there was no real malice in his voice anyway, so it didn't matter. She seemed really glad he was alive, and her happiness was kind of contagious. It kind of reminded him of Mrs. Weasley's mothering over him. Which, though it could get annoying fast, was nice to feel in small doses, such as right now. Even if he still had no idea what was going on.

After chiding him for his horseplay, with a grin on her face the entire time, she forcefully led him back behind the curtain, so she could better examine him. Harry laid back down as she raised her wand and began performing a series of complicated flicks. The minutes drew on as the wand movements became jerkier and the Hospital Wing matron became more and more flustered.

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked, failing to keep the worry out of his voice.

Pomfrey said nothing as she flicked her wand for a final time. "Your magic seems to have reacted very strangely," She admitted after a moment of contemplation.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Harry asked, his apprehension growing with every second. What had that… _thing_, done to him?

"Well… no," She admitted tentatively, flicking her wand once more. "It's just… it seems to have recovered nicely. Perhaps a little too well," She admitted hesitantly. "It seems, if it's possible, stronger than it was before. But why would that be?" She muttered, mostly to herself.

Harry shrugged. Now to see if he could move this along and be allowed to leave. "Hell if I know. I will say that I do feel a lot better; better than I've ever felt really" He was quiet for a second as she continued to examine him. "So what exactly did happen to me?" He asked. She froze, staring at him, as if she didn't know how to answer. "I remember the lights going out, the screaming, the thing in the black cloak, it… well, snogging me, I guess," He admitted with a look of disgust on his face. "So what happened?"

Pomfrey continued to be still. "It was a dementor, Potter." His face showed no recognition, only confusion. Her gasp told him all he needed to know about how much he'd apparently missed. "You- you don't know?" She asked quietly. He nodded in confirmation of that. "Dementors are demons!" She spat, "Demons that drain the happiness from people and force them to relive their worst memories." There was a tense silence as Harry digested that little tidbit.

"Well, that explains the screaming," Harry interjected as he finally realized exactly what that memory was. "_Not Harry! Please, not Harry!_" and "_Stand aside you foolish girl!_" His mother… and Voldemort. Her last moments.

"Dementors also… well- you have to understand that this is generally a punishment reserved for the worst criminals," She rambled. Harry stared at her, silently telling her to get on with it. What was the worst she could tell him at this point? "They suck out the soul, Potter," She admitted finally. Her explanation gave way to a long period of silence as Harry sat and contemplated what she'd said.

"Suck. Out. The. Soul?" Harry asked slowly. "You mean that…"_ It drew back its hood, and bent down to press its cold, clammy, scaly, rotted face to_- "That was-"

"Yes." And Harry finally understood. It had been a bit of a horror story in the boy's dormitory; soulless humans. It came up that one time they all sat around in their second year and tried to come up with the worst punishment for the Heir of Slytherin. And that particular option was dismissed as being too cruel. After Ron finished telling them all about it, they'd wordlessly agreed to never speak of it again. Ever. Madam Pomfrey stood away. "No one has ever survived the dementor's kiss before, Mr. Potter. Everyone else has had their soul sucked out; been reduced to a mere shell of a human being. You are the first to survive."

Harry blinked. 'Here we go again. More Boy-Who-Lived stuff.' He really had no time for that nonsense. "But I'm fine?"

"Except for what I told you about your magic, yes," She agreed. "Though I will be keeping you for a few more days, just in case." He had to suppress the urge to groan. "But for now, I must go inform the Headmaster. Excuse me, Mr. Potter." And with that, she bustled off back to her office.

Harry sank back into his pillow as he stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it. His mind replayed the dementor's attack once again. 'No one else had ever survived.' Then how had he? He wasn't… he wasn't anything special. He'd never been. But then… how could he have survived Voldemort, how could he have survived the dementor?

'Perhaps… maybe there is something special about me,' He thought quietly. 'Maybe I just have a knack for surviving.' Though it was quite worrying to him that he'd had to do everything he could to simply stay alive to this point in his life. But the dark cloud of worry hanging over his head dispelled quickly. 'Hey, I'm alive! I've flipped Death the bird once again! Go me!'

The curtain separating his bed was jostled once again, and Harry looked up to see Dumbledore, a small, satisfied smile on his weathered face, his blue eyes twinkling. Seeing Harry his smile grew wider. "It's a pleasure to have you back, Harry."

"Pleasure to be back, sir," Harry replied with a smile. His happiness and enthusiasm was apparently contagious.

"Forgive an old man for repeating himself but," He gestured to Harry's side, "Tokens from your friends and admirers."

"Wow. That… is a lot of candy," Harry admitted, as he put his glasses on and looked back at the mountain. He'd never really given it much thought but… damn, he would apparently never need to go candy shopping again.

"You will find that is merely the tip of the iceberg, as the muggles say," Dumbledore declared. Harry looked at him in confusion as he drew his wand and flicked it to conjure a spindly-wooden chair next to his bed. "News of the dementor attack was more public than I would have preferred. There is in fact an entire room in this castle full of tokens and gifts sent to you. Including this," Dumbledore drew Harry's attention to a stone bowl innocently situated next to the mountain, looking like it was about to be pushed off.

"What is that, sir?" Harry asked, beckoning to the bowl.

"That, Harry, is a gift of extraordinary value. A pensieve." Harry couldn't stop himself from mouthing 'A what?' "A pensieve is an artifact of great value, capable of allowing the user to view their memories from a different perspective. Nicolas remembered the service you performed for him and bequeathed it to you. But we shall come back to that in a moment."

"So, do you have any idea how I survived this time?" Harry asked, seeing an opportunity to ask his most pressing question. And if Dumbledore didn't know… well… he'd probably never understand it.

"Alas, Harry, I know not. Your survival is a wondrous thing; but one that eludes my understanding," Dumbledore confessed readily. "The only idea that seems possible is that your mother's protection somehow saved you. But that too is a rather wooly proposition."

"So I should just accept that I'm alive and move on?" Harry asked incredulously. Though, for some reason, that sounded fine by him right now.

"Perhaps it is the wisdom of old age, but you will find in life that sometimes mere acceptance is a luxury to be prized above all," Dumbledore replied sagely. "But we must turn our attention to more urgent matters, Harry. Specifically, a question you asked me here a little more than a year ago."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Almost as if he was debating how to respond. "You asked me at the end of your First Year why Lord Voldemort tried to kill you as an infant. At the time, I did not think you were ready for an answer." There was a long pause. "I still harbor my doubts, but I believe, after what you have just endured, you need to know." He paused again, as if unsure how to proceed. "Dementors, Harry, feed on the worst memories of the people they encounter. For you, I imagine that-"

"My parents," Harry interrupted, still uncertain as to what was going on. "My mother- Voldemort killing her," He continued heavily. Even with the cheery tone of his visit, that hadn't entirely escaped his mind.

Dumbledore warily surveyed him over the top of his glasses. "Precisely. But after your encounter with the Dementor, you must have asked the question again: Why did Lord Voldemort choose to attack my parents? To attack me?"

Harry sat up on his bed, staring at the Headmaster, who suddenly looked as if he'd aged a century. He slowly withdrew his wand, and put it to his temple, before withdrawing a silvery strand and placing it in the bowl. He beckoned Harry, who begrudgingly mimicked him as they stared over the bowl. And then he heard it:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

He turned and stared at Dumbledore. "What the bloody hell was that?" Harry asked blankly. But… Dumbledore said this why. How could it have been? It was just… words- creepy words, yes- but…well…

"That, Harry, is a prophecy. One predicting the fall of Lord Voldemort. It was made in 1980, and I had the fortune of being present." He paused. Harry tried digesting that. Prophecy? He'd only heard the vaguest of things about it. It was the reason he'd taken Divination; he was really curious to see whether people's futures could be predicted. The fact that Ron was in that class didn't hurt, though. "So, unfortunately, did one of Lord Voldemort's spies. However, the spy only managed to hear the first two lines of the prophecy, which were subsequently relayed to Lord Voldemort." So… a spy had told Voldemort, who then decided…

"It… means…me?" Harry asked hesitantly as Dumbledore scooped up the memory with his wand. "I mean… I was born at the end of July and my parents; they defied him three times?" Dumbledore nodded. The wheels in his mind began spinning rapidly. "Then… what was that about 'mark him as an equal'?"

"Your scar." Harry clapped a hand to it automatically. "Last year we discussed it and how Lord Voldemort unknowingly transferred some of his powers to you. In attempting to kill you, he marked you as his equal, Harry," Dumbledore replied sadly.

"So… just to make sure… it means… me?" Harry asked, disbelief evident in his tone. Voldemort…. Chose…. Him? Voldemort believed that he could… one day be a threat to him with this… this "Power he knows not?"

"Yes. There was another who fit the criteria laid out though, but Voldemort chose you in the end. The scar marks you," Dumbledore explained swiftly. Harry finally noticed that this conversation seemed to be taking a lot out of him. Every word seemed to age him a year. There was a small, vindictive part of him that took pleasure in it, but the rest of him was too stunned to appreciate that aspect.

"Who?" He asked it automatically; not really caring about the answer.

"Neville Longbottom," Dumbledore declared steadily.

Harry had a sudden strange image of Neville sitting in his bed with the lightning scar splashed across his forehead. He quickly shook it away; it was just too weird. "But… it's me? I have too-" He couldn't finish his thought as the words "_For neither can live while the other survives_," echoed in his head.

"And that last bit… it's either him or me?" He asked timidly after he'd gathered the courage, hoping against hope that it wasn't true, that this was just a bad dream brought on by the dementors. Dumbledore bowed his head, and Harry's dearest hope was dashed.

"I am sorry to place this burden on your shoulders, but I feel that you deserve to know," Dumbledore remarked wearily. "In light of what you just experienced, in light of what you experienced over the past few years, again, I felt you deserved to know. I can only hope that there will come a day when you can forgive, both for knowing and not telling you, and for placing this burden upon your shoulders."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied quietly, though emotionlessly, as he attempted to digest the information he'd just received. He just… he couldn't wrap his mind around it. It seemed… impossible, like it was all a bad dream.

Dumbledore stood up suddenly as he waved his wand once more and his chair disappeared. "I do understand the magnitude of the burden I've laid upon your shoulders. If you require my aid, know that my door is always open to you." Like he could deny me help after what he just told me, thought Harry cynically. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Potter," He said as he left abruptly, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. It was quite some time before they started taking shape.

'Kill, or be killed,' Harry sighed as he continued to stare at the ceiling. That's basically what it came down to. It was odd that he'd never thought of it that way before, he considered. After all, he'd met with Voldemort twice, and nearly died both times. And yet, he'd never made the connection. But now… now that he knew… what now? So what could he do now?

'The only thing you've ever been really good at, Harry.' He thought to himself silently. Aside from Quidditch, that is. "Surviving against all odds," He declared to the empty room. 'All I have to do is Survive. Somehow.' As if life was ever that simple, he reflected ruefully.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Wow! There has been a very positive response to my revision of this story. I can only thank you for your support, and apologize for the wait, as several of my relatives chose the period in between February and now to fall ill. Once summer hits, my updates should become more consistent and frequent. As for now, here is another installment, though sadly unbetaed. And it shows; I believe this chapter is rather rough around the edges, but I feel better about posting it and fixing the flaws later than just having it sit on my hard drive for time uncertain. When I do my big update at the end of May, I will probably have the betaed version ready. Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter One: Survival Of The Fittest

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked him the following morning as she placed his breakfast tray on a conjured table and walked over to check his pulse.

"Fine, thank you," Harry replied curtly. She must have asked him that five times in the last day, and his answer hadn't changed. "Can I leave after breakfast?" For every time she asked him how he was, he responded with that question, which always garnered the same answer. She shook her head; same as the last four times. Harry had noticed that she seemed increasingly stressed every time he asked. "But I'm fine!" He protested indignantly.

She sighed heavily. "I'm awaiting your test results from St. Mungo's. If all goes well, I should receive them this evening. Once I have them, I will look them over and if nothing seems amiss, I will dismiss you tonight. Not a moment sooner, Mr. Potter," She concluded stonily. It sounded like the whole thing was an imposition on her. And Harry suspected he knew the reason why, and even though he'd accepted it, it wasn't like he had to be chuffed about it. Her face lightened slightly at Harry's subsequent glare. "But I think you're well enough for visitors while you wait."

"I can live with that," Harry replied, calming himself down as he bit into a piece of fruit. There was no more use arguing; that was about as much of a concession as he was going to get. He knew what was in store for him, so all he could do was wait. Besides, it was worth noting that the Hospital Wing was not as unbearable as it usually was, despite his friend's absence.

Probably because his continued stay meant he just continue messing around with the pensieve. Dumbledore was right; it was pretty cool! After Madam Pomfrey had retired for the night, he'd pulled the bowl over and started examining it, after having noted the strange runes all around the edge, wondering how to view a memory. Finally, after just sitting there and staring at it, he'd put his wand to his head and concentrated on the memory of his first Quidditch match. It was something he could remember vividly, almost like it was yesterday-the rush of wind against his face, the glaring sun in the sky, the roar of brooms as they zoomed past him-, so he hoped he could use it to test it out. Amazingly, just like Dumbledore had shown him, a long silvery strand appeared at the end of his wand, which he'd quickly flung into the bowl. He eagerly pored over it.

Nothing happened. The silvery strand was in the bowl, but… where was the memory? "Play," He'd whispered quietly. Nothing. He tried tapping the rim with his wand. Still nothing. Why did he think that would work? What had Dumbledore done, again? Wait… he took his wand and carefully prodded the water-like substance in the middle. Finally, from out of the smoke the memory formed and began to play as he watched himself play his first game of Quidditch from afar. It… it was almost beyond belief, being there, watching himself rocket through the air against Higgs, whom he'd noticed hadn't seemed particularly sharp that day. Not that the former Seeker ever seemed that sharp, of course. He leaned closer and closer, trying to better view the match, when his nose accidently touched the memory.

It was rather like how he'd felt falling into Riddle's diary; one second in the hospital wing, the next gently falling into one of the seats in the stadium in his hospital wing garb. At first he was mortified; what if someone saw him! And then, after he'd tried to cover himself up, he'd realized no one cared. It was just a memory, and the people were just as he remembered seeing them; no one could see the additional onlooker. He was just… there. There, watching his first game of Quidditch. Watching his younger self whiz past on the Nimbus and circle the pitch awkwardly looking for the snitch. And that was just pretty damn cool!

It took him a couple of tries to leave the memory after he'd watched it to completion, and a few more to feed it back into his head. But it worked; it was there, back in his head, safe and sound. And then he'd started watching a few more memories to test it out- blowing up Aunt Marge, the Dementor attack, his Sorting. He was kind of confused about the third-person thing? And it seemed kind of weird to stand close to Malfoy and hear him mock Dumbledore to his audience of Crabbe and Goyle. Around that point, when he'd started better using third person, he'd had the brilliant idea to see if what the Headmaster said was true about using a pensieve to see things from another point of view. He vaguely remembered the argument from a few days before, when he'd been half asleep. Could this help him figure out what was going on then? Well, what did he have to lose? Curious, he put his wand to his head once more and withdrew a smaller than normal silver strand of memory, and put it in the bowl. Eagerly, he leaned his head forward and fell into the memory once more.

"…_..…Change in…prognosis Poppy….."_

"…_...here, Dumbledore…... –Ved… can't aff….."_

"_Corneli... power… my position….. failed."_

"_Don't tell….. political….. recover….. unacceptable!"_

"_Perhaps….. vigilant… fault…. lies….administration!"_

"_Headmaster… Kissed… no hope."_

"…_..signs…..recovery…unheard of…. possible."_

He could see nothing but darkness, as he'd kept his eyes closed the entire time. But he'd heard the same fragments from before. The words, or some of them, were apparently imprinted in his memory. Frowning, he crunched up his eyes and tried to see if he could hear anything else

"-No change in condition-…-What is your prognosis Poppy? Will Mr. Potter Rec-"

"See here Dumbledore, the Wizarding World-" He'd finally realized who that voice belonged to. Cornelius Fudge; he remembered meeting the Minister over the summer. Why was the Minister there? "My position is tenuous at best and-" He continued to listen to the memory, picking up a few more pieces. The smile alighting his face at his discovery increasingly dimmed as the Minister said more and more. The pieces he was left with before the memory ended began to fit into a more disturbing picture.

Gradually, he began to pick up the argument that was ongoing around him. After the screw-up with the Dementors, it seemed like the public was not happy with the Minister. After all, he'd stationed the Dementors around Hogwarts, and they'd ended up nearly killing the very popular Boy-Who-Lived. So now they wanted him out of office. The only way he could stay in office apparently was… well, if he understood correctly- and to be fair, it was hard to believe-, if Harry endorsed him. Or at least recovered fully and then supported his decision to keep Dementors at Hogwarts. Like that would ever happen! And it seemed like, before he went unconscious, Fudge was even trying to shift the blame on Hogwarts for improper care in the aftermath of the attack, rather than his administration. He claimed that if Harry had been properly treated- whatever the proper treatment was in his case as the Minister didn't seem to actually know- then he would have been fine. Not that the papers or the public bought it, of course.

And of course, Dumbledore was entirely unwilling to put up with his nonsense. And it seemed like he was powerful enough to follow through. And the public seemed to have turned rabidly against him. In fact, that the entire ordeal had apparently led to a violent riot in the Alley, trouble with foreign Ministries and other signs of public disorder, all of which meant that Fudge saw his administration falling apart. Additionally, Fudge was under additional political pressure because of the recent death of some guy… Crunch, Couch? Anyway, the guy was an important figure, and from what he'd overheard, he'd been found dead in his manor. And foul play was definitely involved. So riots in the streets, angry foreign Ministries- who knew he was such a big name oversees?-, and the assassination of government official. Yes, it seemed like in only a manner of days, the Wizarding World had started falling apart. And now the Minister wanted to-

"Ah, Harry! Glad to see you're up and about, my boy!" Speak of the devil… He was kind of surprised to see the Minister so soon. But then again, the Headmaster had stated in no unclear terms just a few days ago that Fudge needed Harry's endorsement to stay in office. And that he wouldn't get it. But he would have thought the Minister would at least wait until tonight. Did that mean things were worse for him than Harry originally thought? That he was so desperate for his endorsement that it couldn't wait? Well, considering assassinations, riots, a foreign relations crisis… probably yes.

"Good Morning, Minister," Harry replied neutrally, not knowing how else to respond. Fudge's face fell comically at his greeting. He instantly noticed how haggard and worn the Minister looked, how he could barely keep his voice calm. "What can I do for you?" As if he didn't know. Fudge seemed to be treating him as if he was a naive schoolboy, as he had when he'd met Harry after he'd escaped from Privet Drive. And Harry was still very annoyed that the Minister had not told him about Sirius Black being after him.

Fudge winced slightly. Apparently that wasn't the response he was looking for. "Harry, how are you feeling?" He asked, trying to keep the tone of the conversation cordial. For his own sake, most likely.

"Better, Minister. Much better," Harry admitted easily. "Thank you for your concern."

Fudge cleared his throat nervously. "It's just bad business, Harry. Bad business. I tried- well, that is to say, with Sirius Black on the loose- I did what was needed." He took a breath. "Still, did not anticipate- well, how could I- that the Dementors would have attacked an innocent boy. Ridiculous that…" Harry let him ramble, trying to decide what to do.

After all, he'd heard several times that without Harry's help, he would soon be forced to resign. And to be fair, after everything he'd heard about Sirius Black, he could understand posting Dementors to try and protect the school. But… well, after reliving his worst memories and nearly having his soul sucked out, he didn't want to have anything to do with those creatures. And as for the Minister… well, he really wasn't interested in playing politics. He really wished he didn't even have to be in this position. Not that his wishes mattered for anything, of course. So… finally, he decided to simply be honest, to not waste Fudge's time. Hopefully, there was a polite way to say this. Not bloody likely, though.

"Minister, I understand. You did the best you could considering the times," Harry interjected consolingly. Off to a good start. Now… why did it feel like he was kicking a harmless squirrel? Maybe because Fudge's face was alight in joy. "That said, I can't help you." The smile left as soon as it arrived. There was the kick. "It's just- I nearly died, sir. I don't blame you for what happened, of course. You were trying to protect me. But again… well, I nearly died. The Dementors nearly killed me." Good thing he knew how to state the obvious, right? "I can't… I can't look past that, sir. And well… I don't think anyone else can, either. I mean, would you be forgiving if the shoe was on the other foot?" He took a breath to stop himself from rambling like Fudge. "I won't support you; I just- I can't. I mean… even if I did, would it really do you any good? Everyone would just think you were twisting my words; you are just that desperate to stay in office. Or that my support was phony. It wouldn't help." Fudge opened and closed his mouth several times in quick succession, before shutting it and choosing to remain silent. He took a breath, feeling like he was hammering a nail into a coffin. "You did the best you could, Minister, but… well, your time is done. Go out with dignity, sir. Please."

Fudge looked ready to argue, to not go down without a fight, but he wisely shut his mouth and stared indignantly at Harry. He stood there, glaring at him, apparently thinking furiously. 'How dare this idiotic little schoolboy say that I'm-' He took a breath. The boy wouldn't support him. That much was clear. So… he was done for. No two ways about it. Potter may have been right and a large mass of people would have cried foul if he'd somehow gotten the boy's support, but since he hadn't… well, there really was only one outcome. And frankly, considering the headache associated with a rioting public, a belligerent Headmaster, an obstinate Boy-Who-Lived… retirement from the limelight was sounding more attractive with each passing second.

Finally, he sighed and looked away, resigning himself. Apparently, his conclusion was the same as Harry's. "You're right, Mr. Potter. The situation is untenable." He glanced at his watch. "By noon, I will have submitted my resignation. I am no longer the right person to lead the British Ministry," He declared stoically. Harry had to give the man credit for going out with class. Fudge sighed sadly, before turning. "Good day, Mr. Potter." He glanced back at him. "And good luck, Harry. I'm sorry for everything that happened," He declared sadly. Harry watched him leave, feeling… just empty, really. He didn't want to do that, but…

"Sorry about that, Mr. Potter," He turned to survey Madam Pomfrey, who had a guilty look on her face. "He insisted he be allowed to see you first thing in the morning. I wasn't in a position to refuse the Minister's request. Neither was the Headmaster." Harry nodded, having figured that much out from what he saw in the memories. "Now that that is done with, I shall admit your visitors." She turned slightly. "You can come in now, Mr. Weasley."

Harry sat up as he heard quickening footsteps come towards him, and the gangly form of Ron came into view from behind the curtain. "Harry!' He breathed, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. He stood there, staring, for a long moment. Suddenly, he sprang forward and wrapped Harry in a hug. Awk. Ward. "You're alive!"

"I am! Now get off me!" Harry shouted, scrambling away from him. Ron remained perched on the edge of his bed, still staring at him in wonder. Awk. Ward. "Merlin Ron, this is not the first time-"

"I know! I know!" Ron interjected excitedly. "But you have no idea what it was like." He took a breath. "These last few days- well, after you attacked- everyone just went nutters and- I mean-"

"Try breathing, Ron," Harry replied quickly. "Merlin, you're sounding like Hermione after an exam. I get it; I really do. I was attacked. It looked bad. People thought I was dead."'All par for the course.' He gestured to his bed and Hospital Wing garb. "Trust me, I get it."

"No-not like this," Ron replied shakily. "This was- well- It was unlike anything- Really-"

"Ron. Relax. Please. Or Pomfrey will kick you out," Harry warned quietly. He dropped his voice slightly lower. "I know. I get it. I nearly died. Please, Ron. Calm down." He glanced towards her door, half expecting her to come bursting out to shoo Ron away.

Ron took a deep, steadying breath. He stared at Harry for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry!" He finally blurted out.

"For what!" Harry asked quizzically. Really, what the bloody hell had come over his friend?

"I- I should have done something. I shouldn't have let that blasted thing…" Ron's eyes fell to the floor. "I was useless."

"Ron. Relax! I'm fine!" Harry insisted forcefully. "It was a Dementor, Ron. There was nothing you could have done," Harry added consolingly.

"Not what Professor Lupin said," Ron replied hoarsely. Harry finally noticed the dead look in his eyes. "He told me there was this charm- the Patronus Charm, I think- that could have driven it off. If- if only I knew it, then-"

"Ron. Relax. Please," Ron continued staring at the floor. "Ron. Ron, look at me." Ron finally looked up, and his blue eyes locked onto Harry's own. "Ron, do I look alright?" He stared at Harry for a moment before finally nodding slowly. "Do I look well? I don't look pale or shaky or anything, right?" Ron nodded again. "Then trust me when I say I'm fine. It's alright, mate."

"I was useless," Ron repeated, his voice sounding dead. Merlin, he was taking near-death harder than Harry was. 'Maybe because I've had some experience with it' he thought wryly. "If I just could have- if I only-"

"What, you think I haven't ever felt useless before?" Harry challenged. Yeah, because seeing himself in his memories face off against a thousand year old Basilisk with only the aid of the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore's phoenix with his and Ginny's lives at stake seemed really, or trying, almost pathetically to protect the Stone from Quirrell for a few seconds longer-, "Trust me Ron, I have." He glanced sideways at the pensieve, considering his idea. "Here, let me show you."

"What?"

"Let me show you," Harry repeated as he put his wand to his temple and extracted the memory he was looking for. "Follow me." With that, he placed the memory in the bowl and dipped his finger inside.

The Hospital Wing fell away as Harry found himself back in the Forbidden Chamber where he'd first encountered Voldemort. As he picked himself up and watched his eleven year-old self burst into the room and confront Quirrell, Ron fell in beside him.

"Harry, what-" He froze recognizing the familiar form of his old Defense professor. "What is this?" He breathed, watching the dark wizard as he snapped his fingers and bound Harry with ropes conjured out of thin air.

"This is a pensieve, Ron. They allow you to relieve memories from… well, a different point of view," He said, echoing the Headmaster's words. Ron stared, transfixed, as he watched Quirrell mutter about the mirror while Harry attempted to distract him. "I told you about all of this, but seeing it is different, isn't it?"

"_Use the boy_." Ron nodded dumbly as he watched the man force Harry in front of the mirror in search of the Stone. There was a tense silent as they both watched memory-Harry stare into the mirror.

"Does it look like I did much good?" Harry asked bitterly. The mirror-image dropped the stone into Harry's pocket as Ron turned his head to stare at him. "I know what you're thinking, but sometimes… well, sometimes it's what you're willing to do rather than what you can do that's the most important." Inside, he was impressed with how like Dumbledore he sounded.

"_Let me speak with him_." Ron's attention was drawn back to Quirrell as he began unwrapping his turban, letting the remnants fall to the floor, to finally reveal…

"You… You-Know-Who!" Ron breathed, staring at the face Harry had proved incapable of accurately describing.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry corrected quietly, though Ron pretended not to hear him.

"_-see what's become of me_…"

"Was there anything I really could have done against him, Ron?" Harry asked quietly. "Any spell, anything I'd learned that could do any good against him? Trust me, I thought I was going to die here too…"

"…_Now why don't you give me that Stone_?"

They both silently watched Harry struggle against Quirrell in a desperate attempt to keep the stone away from him. Ron actually gasped when he finally saw that his touch seemed to hurt the former professor; the blistery, crumbling skin looked so much scarier in his memory. Finally, it became too much, and Harry fell to the floor, unmoving, as Dumbledore finally scrambled into the room with his wand at the ready and the memory ended. And with that, Harry ejected both of them from the pensive.

"See, Ron?" Harry asked the second they had both left the memory and he'd deposited it back in his head. "If the Dementor had gone for you, it's not like I could have done anything." Did he mention he was really bad at reassuring people? "But I would have tried, just like you did."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron repeated dully. "I just-"

"You're forgiven Ron," Harry quickly interrupted. "Trust me, it's not your fault."

Ron stared at the ground once again. "I'm a really bad friend," Ron admitted. "I never- I never understood what you went through. I thought…"

"Thought it was really heroic instead of looking really stupid and suicidal?" Harry suggested shrewdly. "Trust me Ron, I've thought about that many times." 'Especially in the past twenty-four hours.' The way I see it, it's a bloody miracle I'm still alive."

"Yeah… maybe," Ron conceded glumly. "I just…" He glanced sideways at Harry, "Why you? I mean, why is it always you?"

'Because of the bloody prophecy.' "Does the 'why' matter anymore, Ron?" Harry asked, slightly defensive. "Let's face it, these last few years we've dealt with Voldemort, a basilisk, Sirius Black, and now Dementors." He stared at his sheets. "Who cares about 'why' now? All I need to know is that they're coming and… I have to be ready," He finished determinedly.

Ron turned his gaze upon him. "Maybe. Maybe you're right. But, well… Merlin, you're such a hero, Harry-"

"I'm not a hero," Harry interrupted immediately. "The way I see it, I'm a guy who's really good at surviving. Probably because I needed to be. Else I'd have died several times. I'm not a hero, Ron; I'm just a survivor." He took a deep breath. "But if I'm going to survive from now on, well… things have to change."

Ron's ears perked up. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"You mentioned the Patronus charm, didn't you? A charm capable of driving those bloody menaces away?" Ron nodded slowly. "What would you have given to be able to do it back in the compartment?"

"An arm and a leg," He answered without hesitation.

"Exactly. It's too late for that. But…" He steeled himself, "I have a feeling that isn't the last we've seen of those bloody things." He shuddered slightly. "Horrid demons. It could really come in handy in the future, couldn't it?" He suggested, hoping against hope Rom would show any willingness, any inclination to go along.

Ron paused, considering his words. "You're right, Harry. We need- maybe… maybe we need to take life a bit more seriously. Or else… well," He glanced at him significantly, "I guess… I mean, Dementors, and buggering You-Know-Who, and-"

"-And who knows what else is to come?' Harry asked quietly. He locked eyes with Ron. "We need to be ready. Or else, next time…"

Ron swallowed. And then nodded. "I'll go see Professor Lupin- he's a pretty nice bloke- and see about learning that charm. Mind you, he said it's bloody difficult. Or maybe setting up Defense lessons. Or something."

Harry nodded, glad that Ron was with him on this. "Once I get out tonight, we'll get Hermione and start practicing spells or something. Anything to be ready." He paused as he realized something. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Divination. And Muggle Studies. And Arithmancy," He answered shortly. Harry shot him a puzzled look. "I've no bloody clue," He muttered.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Divination, Ron?" Harry asked quietly.

"It's useless tripe, Harry. You waking up is far more important than some ruddy old bat telling everyone they're going to croak," Ron replied contemptuously.

"So why don't you just drop it?" Harry asked. Ron froze, staring off into space. "Really. If it's so useless- well, there has to be something better. Like maybe Runes. Or Arithmancy. Something that could be useful, you know." Ron stared at him thoughtfully.

"Are you going to drop it, Harry?" Ron asked curiously.

"Well, after what you just told me… yeah," Harry replied, not admitting that his decision may perhaps have been affected by a prophecy he'd heard just a few hours prior. "Tell you what, go to McGonagall and drop the class for both of us and pick something else to take. All right?"

"Okay, I guess. Err…" He stared at Harry awkwardly. Like he was about to fall apart any second.

"Trust me Ron. I'm fine. You, however, aren't. Maybe you should go talk to McGonagall, and then get a sleeping potion or something," He said, noting the bags underneath Ron's eyes.

Ron snorted at his suggestion but stood slowly, swaying slightly. He really looked bloody exhausted now. "Maybe I'll go do that. Maybe," He muttered. He spared Harry another glance before he decided to get a move on. "It's- it's good to have you back, mate," He said, before walking off.

"It's good to be back, Ron," He called out to his friend as he left the wing, his eyes drawn back to his pensieve once more.

* * *

"-the test results have not turned up any abnormalities. Overall, there seem to be no lingering effects from your ordeal. Since everything appears to be in order, and you seem to be in perfect health, you can leave," Pomfrey declared, though it was clear the results puzzled her, before moving away from him to give him space to change.

Harry took the clothing Ron had retrieved for him and quickly threw it on. It felt so good to be back in his own clothing, even if they were only Dudley's old things. He glanced disdainfully from the now discarded hospital clothing to the bedside table which was now almost empty; his candy had already been moved up to his dorm by the Hogwarts house-elves. He didn't even know Hogwarts had them before the Hospital Wing matron called them to move his gifts. But at least he didn't have to carry all that stuff. And the other elves didn't seem completely nutters like Dobby had. Pocketing his wand, he went to leave the Hospital Wing. Only to be stopped in his tracks by the presence of Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry greeted, his voice slightly chilly. Dumbledore's smile seemingly dimmed before it returned in full force. Not that he really blamed Dumbledore for the whole debacle with the prophecy and the Dementors-even if he should; it wasn't like the man had convinced Dumbledore to go after him-, but still… that wasn't to say he was at peace with what had happened.

"Wonderful to see you up and about, my boy," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling slightly. It seemed that Harry's cool greeting had not fazed him in the slightest.

Harry couldn't help it; as annoyed as he was with the wizened Headmaster, he still managed a slight grin in reply. It was hard to stay mad at the Headmaster. Didn't mean he wasn't willing to try, though. "What can I do for you, sir?" His slightly cold tone was his sad attempt.

"Well Harry, as I mentioned earlier, there is an entire room filled tokens you received while incapacitated. I know you are eager to return to your friends, but I fear this matter can not wait," Dumbledore finished cheerfully, ignoring his tone. "I would very much like for you to accompany me to examine these gifts."

"Is there a problem, sir?" Harry asked neutrally, wondering how this could be important enough to keep him away from his friends. "With my gifts, I mean."

"Not a specific one, no. However, considering what occurred just last year, I would be remiss if I did not pay close attention to the items entering my castle," Dumbledore replied steadily. "Besides, I would very much like the chance to impart any wisdom I possess to the younger generation. If you will allow me this, that is." Yeah, like Harry would have said no to the Headmaster.

"Of course, sir," Harry agreed. The same thought had occurred to him- what if someone sent him a cursed diary or something and he didn't recognize the threat in time? And, as he was reminded by the pensieve, he probably wouldn't have known how to use some of the stuff he was sent. So even though he resented having the Headmaster examine his stuff, and he was definitely not okay with the aged wizard and what he had confided in him the previous night, and he really didn't even want to be in the man's presence, he still knew better than to needlessly argue.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore swept out of the Hospital wing, and Harry hastily followed. They walked in silence down the long corridors for a time, the only sounds accompanying them being the dull echo of their footsteps on stone floor and the occasional sounds indicating the presence of other people close by. That never seemed to come into contact with them, oddly enough. It was rare to walk the halls near dinnertime and not see anyone. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, thinking it over, before finally deciding that he must have done… well, something to keep other people away. Maybe a… a Notice-Me-Not charm? Wait a tic; what was a Notice-Me-Not charm? Where had he heard about it before?

After a long time in silence, Harry trying to remember what he knew about that charm, Dumbledore finally spoke. "As you have most likely heard, Cornelius Fudge resigned- some would add 'in disgrace'- a few short hours ago."

"Yeah. He told me he was going to do it when he met with me earlier," Harry replied levelly. He was quiet as he considered what it meant. Hopefully that things went back to normal. But aside from that? Well… he had nothing. "So what does that mean for the Wizarding World, sir?"

"There will be a Ministerial election, Harry," Dumbledore patiently explained. "In the interim, Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour will run the show as Former-Minister Fudge's and the Wizengamot's handpicked successor, but in a few months time, he may well be forced out of office if the voters are not with him," Dumbledore concluded wearily.

"The Wizengamot, sir?" Harry asked, unfamiliar with the term. Not to say he hadn't heard the word before, but-

"Ah, yes. I apologize; I had forgotten that there is much knowledge that I apparently take for granted." He cleared his throat before he started to explain. "The Wizengamot is to the Wizarding World as Parliament and Courts of Law are to the muggle world." Harry only had the vaguest of ideas what that meant because of the lack of time he'd spent in the muggle world recently. "It partly serves to pass laws, partly to voice opinions about laws, statutes, and the like, and in special circumstances, to administer justice." He glanced sideways at Harry. "I do believe your family holds a seat on the Wizengamot. When you come of age, Harry, I believe it is yours to claim."

"Nonetheless, the Wizengamot is composed of both elected and hereditary members. Your family has held a seat on it since the 1500's, while, say, Cornelius Fudge was elected to three terms on it before he became Minister," Dumbledore explained. "There is little more I can describe to you, Harry. It is better understood when experienced." He paused, as if thinking something over. "You might find it beneficial to sit in on a few sessions in the future. But for now, please put aside your other queries as we have reached our destination," He finished, flicking his wand to unlock a plain looking door and striding through it. With a scowl on his face at Dumbledore's explanation- he hated the idea of having a seat on the Wizengamot just because-, Harry followed him inside.

And then froze, his eyes going wide. What. The…?

When Dumbledore said he'd been sent more gifts, he'd never thought- he blinked several times, trying to make sure his vision was fine. Apparently, it was. In front of him was really… well, he hadn't thought of this!

"You will find, Harry, that the public holds a great deal of affection for those rare few deemed to be heroes," Dumbledore told him, his eyes twinkling.

"Have you ever seen so much… stuff, before sir?" Harry asked faintly, still staring around the room, glancing at some of the piles of… what was that, anyway?

"Oddly enough, yes," Dumbledore replied, with a chuckle. Harry turned with a questioning look on his face. "Though mostly undeserved, I too have had my time in the spotlight, Harry."

'What is he talking…- Grindlewald.' "What exactly are these things, sir?" Harry asked, beckoning to the room at large.

"Ah yes, there is quite a lot, isn't there? Well then, those few piles near the corner consist of spellbooks and the like. Your friend, Mr. Florean Fortescue sent an encyclopedia of Goblin/Human relations that he thought you might find enjoyable." Harry mentally noted that he had to send Hedwig off with a reply to thank the man. "Myself, and professors Snape and McGonagall sorted through them as a preventative measure. Aside from an innocent-looking copy of _Sonnets of a Sorcerer_," Harry had a vague recollection of Ron telling him about that book last year, "There is nothing else of note."

He seamlessly continued. "Next we have the Dark Detectors." Harry shot him another quizzical look. "These are objects capable of enhancing your protection. For instance, this Foe Glass," He lifted up a mirror which showed Harry several figures with fuzzy-outlines, "Displays any and all enemies you might have, and the focus becomes clearer the closer they are to you. It is a common rule to flee or prepare one-self when the whites of a foe's eyes are visible." Harry stared into the mirror, happy to note that none of his enemies appeared close by. "The Secrecy Sensor and Sneakeoscopes you have been sent are more useful for rooting out truth and preventing yourself from falling victim to deception," He declared, gently setting the Foe Glass back down while gesturing to objects that looked respectively like an old-fashioned television and a glass spinning-top.

"Then of course there are-" Dumbledore continued explaining the various gifts Harry had received, though by the time they were on the last pile, this one consisting of potions and potion's ingredients, his head was swimming. Though there were some gifts, like the Firebolt someone had sent him, which McGonagall and Flitwick were now checking over. He couldn't wait to test out.

"Sir, why…- why did so many people send me gifts? And- I mean," He gestured to the impressive set of Dark Detectors, "Why are they so… so-"

"Extravagent?" Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. "Harry, I find that you are sometimes so modest that it is almost painful. Need I remind that you that you are the Boy-Who-Lived, a symbol to the World at large? And unlike your previous adventures, the news of your attack did not remain confined to the castle. Despite my wishes."

He cleared his throat. "But I do confess that there are some ulterior reasons for why you have received so much from so many. For instance," He held up one book from an advanced encyclopedia of potion brewing, "Some like Horace-"

"Horace?"

"Horace Slughorn is a former professor of potions. Over the length of his career he, shall we say, 'accumulated' a number of talented students whom he then used his considerable influence for, always reaping some kind of benefit in turn, such as his own column at the Daily Prophet for a number of years, or some of his favorite crystallized pineapple." Harry had a sudden image of a spider with several flies caught in its web. "I say this not to dissuade you from contacting him, but to put you on your guard. But yes, there are many like him who are hoping to use this gift as a means of getting closer to you. Or simply as a way of promoting their own business," His gaze fell upon a bundle of robes Madam Malkin's had gifted, or a certificate from the Daily Prophet, gifting him with a daily copy gratis for the next year.

"Others, like Nicolas Flamel, remember the good deeds you have done on their behalf, and hope that their small token can serve as a form of repayment for all you have done for them." He held up a quill. "Ms. Penelope Clearwater," Harry had a sudden image of the blonde-haired seventh-year embracing Percy Weasley, "Sent you this gift, and in her letter," He saw the look on Harry's face and quickly backtracked, "-I apologize Harry, but her script looked very similar to script I've seen used by Lucius Malfoy-," The scowl mostly left his face, "She does more to address what happened last year than your recent attack."

"Then there is the fact that, as I mentioned, you are seen as a symbol by the Wizarding World. The Dark Detectors were the collective gift of the Auror corps- the magical policemen-," He clarified at Harry's look, "Of whom many are veterans of the last war. Likewise, Alastor Moody, a now retired Auror, sent you that charming Hip Flask I showed you earlier."

"Finally, and most importantly, there is the fact that you have never before been capable of engaging with any kind of dialogue with the rest of the Wizarding Community." He ignored Harry's frown. "When you were first placed at Privet Drive, not a day went by where a flood of owls stormed the castle with letters addressed to you. Naturally, I can hardly expect a one, or a five, or a ten-year old to know how to reply to a flock of strange wizards, so I took it upon myself to inform that I was overseeing your mail for the near future, but that I would pass their well wishes on to you. By the time you came to Hogwarts, most were happily dissuaded from contacting you in the manner they had after the fall of Voldemort." His eyes locked on to Harry's own. "I do not regret my decision Harry, and I doubt, remembering your posture and demeanor from your first few weeks, that you would have appreciated the attention." Just because he happened to be right did not mean that Harry's anger had diminished.

"However, now that you have been so publically attacked, a majority of the people who had penned letters of congratulation and well-wishes those many years ago have now taken up their quills once more, hoping to correspond with the Boy Who Has Now Become Legend. How you choose to handle this is your own decision of course, but I would advise sending out letters of thanks and regards to those many who saw fit to contact you and who so freely offered up gifts and tokens of significant value," Harry nodded stoically, anger slowly abating, staring back at the gigantic pile of books.

"And now Harry, it is high time I escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. Your gifts will keep for the time being, and you can retrieve them at your convenience. But now, I believe you will find a great many who are quite relieved to see you once more in good health," Dumbledore declared, walking to the door. Harry, nodded, his gaze falling away from the Firebolt, as he turned to follow the aged Headmaster.

* * *

_He stood before the Fat Lady, as Dumbledore rounded the corner, taking in the portrait's shocked expression. It was getting really old, too bloody quickly. "Fortuna Major." No response. "Fortuna Major," He repeated in a louder tone. Numbly, the portrait swung open to admit him. Her reaction was not a good sign, not at all. Steeling himself, Harry stepped forward._

_ At first, only one or two noticed his entrance, though their reactions were rather telling, but gradually, the buzz of the common room died away as all assembled Gryffindors began staring at him, almost incomprehensively. Awk. Ward._

_ And rather annoying, come to think of it. He decided to vocalize it. "You know, your staring is really bloody creepy." And then the silence and mystique was broken, and the crowd engulfed him._

Rom glanced over at him. The worry and trepidation the boy had experienced earlier had seemingly evaporated. "Some party, huh mate?"

Harry grinned, the smell of Katie Bell's perfume still wafting around him, her lipstick still smudged slightly against his cheek. Though, in the back of his mind, he did worry about how McLaggen, her boyfriend, had taken her warm reception. Bugger it; he didn't bloody care. "It's good to be back, mate," He muttered groggily, tired after such a long welcome back party. Fred and George had risen to the occasion spectacularly.

_He sidled up next to one of the twins. "How'd you get so much butterbeer on such short notice?" Harry asked quietly. They must have procured say, a dozen crates for their impromptu party. _

_ Fred wheeled around with a smirk on his face. "We aren't Hogwarts' number one pranksters for nothing, old boy!"_

_ "I never meant to suggest otherwise," Harry replied with a grin. "That even think I could suggest such a thing; it almost wounds me," He cried, melodramatically pounding his chest. "In fact: oh, the pain!"_

_ Fred laughed as George appeared next to him from seemingly nowhere. "Shall I get a Healer, Fred? It would be a shame if Harry here had to spend another week in the Hospital Wing, wouldn't it?" He asked in mock concern._

_ "No! NO! No Hospital Wing!" He shouted, waving his hands in front of himself for emphasis. "Gee, I feel myself miraculously healing," He replied quickly, as the Twins laughed at his reaction and his well-known hatred of the place. "But really though, how did you get this stuff from Hogsmeade? It must have been from Hogsmeade, right?"_

_ George lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Well, you see Harry…"_

That map they showed him was pretty damn cool. He'd even asked if the Twins had ever figured out what spells were on it so they could replicate the feat. A map like that could really come in handy. Sadly, they hadn't. But they'd said that Harry could possibly borrow it when they weren't using it.

Though, his night hadn't been perfect. At one point, with her brothers watching, Ginny had come over to express her relief, and accidently tripped and toppled Harry over in full view of them. Which of course set off a round of teasing about Ginny 'making her move on Harry', which sent the blushing girl stammering apologies as she quickly got away. And then there was Hermione.

_"You should really take a break," Harry repeated, staring at the mountain of books she was focusing on as she complained about not being able to work. He glanced around at the party around them. "Is it even possible to work in this?"_

_ "Oh, Harry, I want to. But I just can't!" She angrily flipped several pages in one of her Ancient Runes textbooks. "I have this essay due on Monday, and then there's professor Vector's assignment, and-"_

_ "Why are you taking so many courses anyway?" Harry cut in. "Hermione, you're a brilliant witch, but look at yourself! This is way too much work!"_

_ Hermione looked like she'd been slapped. Or maybe that was just because her hair was so exceptionally bushy from all the work she'd been trying to do. "Just because you and Ron slack off and do the bare minimum needed to pass classes doesn't mean-"_

_ Sensing the beginnings of an argument, Harry tried to cut it off. "That's not what this about, Hermione. I mean, Ron said you hate Divination, and I have no idea why you wanted to take Muggle Studies considering you know quite a bit more than they do," He exclaimed quickly._

_ "Why couldn't you just be supportive of my decision?" Hermione cried. "Both you and bloody Ron- 'it's too much work, Hermione!'- 'Why are you taking muggle studies, Hermione!- Maybe you should drop a class Hermione." She took a breath. "Well maybe I'd have time to get through all this work if you and Ron didn't keep bothering me and-"_

_ "Fine." His voice was ice. He didn't have to take this; even if Hermione was really stressed. "I'll leave. Good luck with your work." He said, quickly removing himself from her side._

But tomorrow he resolved to get up bright and early and find Hermione and sort everything out. For now- he tossed himself on his bed- sleep beckoned. Tired, he quickly turned over and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. But not a peaceful one, thanks to his dreams.

* * *

He awoke with a cold sweat rushing down his forehead, his sheets feeling warm and unbearable. He quickly sat upright, unaware of how heavily he was breathing, as he held his head in his hands, trying to remember, wishing he could forget. Finally, at last, it all came back to him, and he sighed into his hands, suddenly feeling the urge to retch.

Thought, to be honest, it wasn't the worst dream he'd ever had. He thought briefly, with a shiver, of what he'd dreamt after his conversation with Dumbledore in front of the Mirror of Erised. Still, seeing Voldemort killing mu- anyway, it had more emotional impact when his parents were the ones disappearing in a flash of venomous green light.

A slight rustling nearby made him look up and peak around his bed curtains, eyes scanning the darkness for the disturbance. They widened slightly as they fell upon the form of Neville Longbottom quietly staring out the window, as if hoping the answers he was apparently seeking would come on through. He didn't really know why he swung his legs down to the ground, to go disturb his dormmate's quiet contemplation, but he somehow felt that restless nights with tortured dreams were not something to bottle inside.

Besides… _"Who?" "Neville Longbottom."_… He could admit that he curious about what might haunt the other boy of the prophecy on an otherwise perfect night.

"You all right?" Harry whispered as he sat down next to him, causing Neville to jump.

He glanced at Harry warily before shaking his head, as if to clear it. "I'm fine Harry. Just a little trouble sleeping, that's all. Go back to bed," He ramblingly half ordered, half asked. His tone was so robotic that Harry couldn't help be reminded of himself on more than one occasion.

Harry smiled guiltily. "You know, I've used that one before. I guess it must have been a pretty bad nightmare." Neville didn't respond. "Want to talk about it?"

"Go away, Harry," Neville muttered, his eyes averted.

The slight smile left Harry's face. "My nightmare was about Voldemort"- Neville flinched- "Slaughtering muggleborns as a way to draw out Dumbledore. When I woke up, I checked over my hands, because I had to be absolutely sure the blood had left them." Crimson stains that he was certain would never depart his skin, to be more precise. Neville absorbed this in silence, a look of disgust on his face. "What did you dream about?"

He was silent for such a long time that Harry almost thought about either asking again or returning to bed. Which one to choose, he wasn't sure. Finally though, he answered. "My… my parents," His voice was hoarse. "And Bellatrix…" He trailed off.

"What happened?" Harry asked, clapping a hand to his shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

"They… they came to my home. Right after You-Know-Who had fallen. She, and her husband, and his brother, and…" His voice broke slightly, "They tried to fight him off, but those- they tortured them." Neville's voice almost died, it dropped so dramatically. "The aurors- they didn't make in time," He admitted lowly.

Harry winced. Well, that answered the question of what could keep the other boy of the prophecy awake. "Are- are they dead?"

"No." The word had so many different facets to him. Harry could subconsciously make out anger, regret, sadness, vengeance, and pure, unfiltered hatred. "They… they lost their minds," Neville whispered finally, as tears finally began streaming down his face. "The Lestranges. And- and the Cruciatus," The last bit was said in a terrified whisper. "I tried so hard to forget, to drown it out, but those damn Dementors…"

"I know- I know exactly what you're talking about," Harry whispered, trying to think of what he could say that might be helpful. Neville glanced at him, almost as if he really didn't want to. "When the Dementors- when they got near to me, I heard my parents, and… and their last moments," He admitted. "It- it's really something to actually know what happened, rather than just what everyone ever told me- thinking about it kept me awake last night."

"Yeah," Neville agreed idly. "My Gran told me about them, ever since I was a young boy. But still…" He trailed off, staring straight ahead. "Do you think- you think your parents are proud of you?" He whispered. Harry could tell this was a question that he'd wrestled with before.

Harry nodded, not that Neville saw it. "Yes. Granted, I'm not the best student or anything but- well yeah, I think they'd be proud of me." And it wasn't like he could ever forget seeing their smiling faces in the Mirror. "How about you?"

"I- I really don't know," Neville admitted. "I mean, it's not like I'm a great wizard or anything." He looked down. "Sometimes, I really- I really believe the answer is no. I can barely even manage a simple transfiguration. Or a potion," He added, dread creeping into his voice.

"Neville, that's rubbish. From what I've heard, you have a real talent with Herbology. And Flitwick says your charms work is pretty good," Well, he might have said it was above average, once, when Harry wasn't supposed to be listening, "And so what if your Transfiguration isn't great? As for Potions- do I even need to say anything?"

Neville said nothing in response. "I feel like I'm letting them down. Like I'm- I'm just not good enough," He admitted finally. "Like they gave their lives to protect me, and I-" He broke off, but Harry could tell the next words out his mouth would have been, "I wasn't worth it."

"Then get better. Live up to it," Harry replied at once, having mentally had a similar conversation in his head the night before. It took him no time to come to a decision. Because Neville, in many ways, resembled him before he'd received his Hogwarts letter and life had taken a turn for the better. And he'd so desperately wanted a chance then… just to prove himself once…"Listen, Ron and I are going to try and learn some spells that might be useful against the Dementors and whatever else might attack me this year. You're welcome to join us," Harry concluded calmly. Neville glanced at him, wary. This was fair, because they had ignored their dormmate for the last two years. "Neville, with a bit of hard work, you could become…"

"The kind of wizard that would make my parents proud," Neville finished, as he considered it. Finally, he reached a decision. "I'll see if I can make it, Harry. Maybe if I get that Potions essay out of the way, then I could…"

"It would be a pleasure to have you. Another wand around for when things get iffy is always a good idea," Harry remarked sagely.

A slight smile graced Neville's face. "Gee, I thought you were going to tell the one about how you don't need to outrun the Dementors, you just need outrun your friends."

"That's another way of doing it," Harry remarked. "Come on, enough moping and reflection. Let's get some sleep, mate."

"Yeah, sleep sounds good," Neville muttered tiredly. "Thanks a lot, Harry," He said as he left his space by the window to return to bed. Harry smiled thinly and returned to his bed, hoping for some better dreams. His prayers would not be answered.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: So yeah, this chapter was a long time coming. Generally, I don't like to use excuses (Yeah Right). However, in the past few months, my hard drive has crashed (twice), totally destroying all my noted for this story and all my others. Subsequently, it has taken quite a while to restore even a fraction of the work I had. And I'm still not even close to there. I will also admit that yet another hurdle was rather disheartening, which almost certainly contributed to the lengthy wait; why even attempt to write fanfiction when, in one way or another, something will happen that will ensure it never sees the light of day. Slowly but surely, I am attempting to restore what I had. Nevertheless, I finally have another chapter of this story. I don't own Harry Potter, though in this chapter I used some parts directly from the book, and hopefully this is welcome back. For good.

Chapter Two: Visions Of A Crown

_"Can we talk?" Silence. "Please?" He added nervously._

_An icy glare was received in reply. Already this was going so well. "Harry. We can't. I simply have too much work to do. And we have nothing to say to each other at this point."_

_ "I think there's a lot left to be said. You've been avoiding me and Ron for the past couple of days. Why? Why have you been so… so…" At this point, words had simply failed him._

_ The sound a book roughly hitting a table echoed throughout the otherwise still library. Thankfully, since it was late in the day, almost no one was around to witness this. "Well, maybe if you hadn't replaced me-"_

_ "Hermione, I already told you that I haven't. Listen, please! Neville is just-"_

_ "Just what! Less annoying! Less intelligent! More obedient! What are you trying to say, Harry!?"_

_ That was when he'd finally snapped. "Will you shut up and let me speak?! Maybe-"_

_ "Go away Harry! I get it, okay! The bushy-haired know-it-all isn't good enough for you, so you had to replace her when she started getting uppity!"_

_ "Merlin! What is with you?! Why are you-"_

_ "Mr. Potter! Would you kindly remove yourself from the library? You are causing far too much of a disruption!" There was a hint of sadness in Madam Pince's voice, as if she regretted interfering. He was tempted to argue, but he finally turned on his heel and stormed away without protest._

_ The scene immediately afterwards, his walking away from the library, was interrupted and replaced by another one where he, Ron, and Neville were playing chess and hanging out in Gryffindor Tower a few days later. Neville was flipping through the notes they'd gathered from their hours of research in the library while they played their second game. Ron audibly shrugged, not seeing a trap, as he moved his knight to take Harry's castle._

_ "What the bloody hell is going on with Hermione?" Harry groused, the memory of their library confrontation still fresh, after glancing around to make sure no one was listening. His reply was silence as he took the bishop Ron had sacrificed. _

_ Neville shifted timidly. Hermione had been a bit of a sore spot for him lately, seeing as she'd walked up to him and accused him a little less than a week ago of stealing her friends. Thereafter, she turned to Harry and loudly accused him of replacing "The Uppity Mudblood," before storming out of the tower. Needless to say, Harry had no idea what the hell had set her off. And after their recent arguments, he was rather desperately searching for answers._

_ "No idea," Ron confessed readily, his ears slightly going red. He paused, examining the board. "I mean… she's seemed kind of stressed lately." He moved his rook back a few spaces. "But who wasn't after you were attacked?"_

_ Neville wringed his hands in a manner that somehow reminded Harry of the nutty house-elf he'd met the prior year. "Um, well," He and Ron looked up from their game. "I… I think there's something really wrong with her," He admitted hesitantly. Harry gestured for him to continue, "She isn't just stressed, Harry. I don't think. Well, er, I think- I think there might really be something wrong!" He repeated lamely. "Maybe you should tell professor McGonagall. Or Madam Pompfrey." Ron stared off into space, considering his suggestion._

_ Harry though, was about to dismiss his suggestion out of hand when he realized Neville might have a point. She really had been acting quite oddly. At first he thought it was stress, but then a lot of people in their house had been muttering about how she had apparently gone off the deep end. Fred and George still sported marks on their forearms from where she'd hexed them after their latest prank: multi-colored lighting for the common room which she claimed had interfered with her work. She'd even snapped at Percy recently for 'interrupting' her, and they'd always gotten on well before. So… yeah, something was definitely up. "I'll think about it, Neville."_

_ "Checkmate," Ron declared, moving his queen across the board. "So Harry, are we finally going to start doing some heavier spellwork? Shield charms are nice and all, but maybe we should look up some curses."_

"_Not yet, mate. I told you, want to get a lay of the land first. We've done a lot of work on types of magic that might be useful, but there are still a few more sources I want to examine. Maybe two or three more days of work," Harry explained. "Then maybe we'll work on something like the Banishing Charm."_

_Ron shrugged, a little disappointed. "Okay, Harry." He finished resetting the board and looked up. "Oh, and about the Dementors," Harry nodded for him to go on, "The only useful thing against that I've found is this spell called the Patronus Charm. It's supposed to be really complex, but I asked both Lupin and Flitwick about it, and they both seemed to know it. Er, Professor Lupin volunteered lessons," He finished hesitantly. _

"_Maybe I'll talk to him after class tomorrow," Harry replied offhandedly. "Up for a game, Neville?" As Harry moved his first piece, the rest of the rematch was replaced instead by a different scene starting with him walking down a fifth floor corridor. He glanced around at the familiar stone walls, his eyes stopping briefly on a painting of three witches chatting who were with a centaur, before they found his target. His quiet walk was the only sound issuing off the walls._

_ "Hello again, Helena. How are you doing this fine evening?"_

_ The person he was addressing, a ghost of a young woman with raven-black waist-length hair and a cloak that could have brushed the floor had she not been levitating, turned and smiled serenely. "I am feeling very well, Tom. Thank you for asking. How goes your patrol?" Tom?_

_ Tom smiled slightly, idly reaching for the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes, before giving it a flick as if he'd brushed off a fly. "Very well, thank you. It has been a quiet and mostly peaceful night."_

_ "I imagine you are not here for a simple chat? What can I do for you?" She asked, a slight smile gracing here face._

_ "You see through me, Milady. I must confess that I do have an ulterior motive." He replied courteously, before pausing, as if trying to piece together the right words. "I have thought on the tale you relayed to me a mere fortnight ago. And I was wondering: is there a way that you could finally be at peace?" She looked confused, so he quickly rephrased the question. "Finally pass on after a thousand years of roaming the Earth without solace?"_

_ There was a flicker of something… regret?… across her face, though she shook her head. "After all this time, it has ceased to be a burden, Thomas. I require neither solace nor comfort. I am at peace with my existence," She assured him._

_ "I apologize, Milady. I merely thought that… after all this time, all the anguish- there was something I could do for you. I merely thought," He trailed off, apologetically. "I apologize for my presumption, and for wasting your time," He declared as he turned and began to walk away. _

_ "Your apology is unnecessary. I do appreciate the gesture," The ghost replied primly, stopping him in his tracks. "It is true that after such a long existence, there were many times where I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to finally end it. For a time it even became an academic pursuit of mine. But-"_

_ "Surely, a woman as clever and talented as you must given this question a great deal of attention," Tom pressed, with a charming smile on his face as he turned around again. "If nothing else, could you please impart your wisdom to me? There may be a case where I encounter one such as you who has not made peace with their long existence," He pointed out reasonably._

_ The ghost gave him a piercing stare before relenting. "Yes, I have," She answered finally. "From what I have discovered, there actually is a way."_

_ "There is?" Tom asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Are you quite sure I can not aid you? If there some way I could assist you, then by all means, please-"_

_ "The Diadem," The ghost answered abruptly. "The root of the crime. If it were to be recovered and cleansed of my crime- our crime," She corrected hastily, "Then perhaps the Baron and I could pass on. Not that he deserves the privilege," She muttered angrily. Tom wisely kept his mouth closed. "But it seems that forgiveness for the original crimes can be enough to put some ghosts to rest." _

_ "I could assist you in this task, if you desire it. The privilege of eternal rest after a lifetime of existence is one I truly believe you deserve. If you wish it," He added hastily, a hint of eagerness creeping into his voice. "May I be of service to you, Milady?" Tom asked formally with a slight bow._

_ The ghost considered him for a long moment, as if she were staring into his very soul- a phenomena he had become used to thanks to his Transfiguration professor- before turning away slightly. "My mother's Diadem is needed," She started in a near whisper. Tom had to strain to hear the rest. "If you could retrieve it Tom, and then take it to a high-ranking member of the clergy, preferably the Archbishop, so that the blood of our crimes would be cleansed, I would be eternally grateful," She stated finally, after wrestling with a decision for a few moments. "Afterwards, I believe we could finally, truly be at peace. If we so choose," She added as an afterthought._

_ "Thank you for telling me this, Milady," It wasn't hard to pretend that he was grateful for the information. "I will perform that task with all haste," Tom replied cordially. "There is just one last thing I require: could you possibly tell me the Diadem's last known location?"_

_ Her eyes lowered slightly as the ghost answered, "I placed the Diadem in a tree outside a village call Krujë. It was a small, rural community in Albania, but one without many woodcutters, so I thought my prize would be safe," She explained. "When you go…"  
_

_ Once again, the scene shifted, but instead of another corridor, it was now of a forest in early autumn, the fallen leaves hiding most of the muddy ground from sight in a collage of brown and yellow._

_The leaves would have rustled and possibly alerted anyone nearby to hs presence if not for his silencing charm. Still, there was the possibility that anyone nearby could have also peered out through the brush and caught sight of him, if not for his Disillusionment charm. Truly, there was much value in the concealment spells he had learned in preparation of his journey. Except, there was a rustling… must have been smell, so…_

_ "Avada Kedavra!" A flash of green light, and wolf several feet away that had began preparing to attack fell to the ground, dead. He walked over and examined the wolf, noticing the expression almost akin to human surprise on its face. Pitiful. Shaking his head at his carelessness, he quickly applied a smell-masking charm to prevent anymore encounters with the denizens of the forest._

_ He trampled over it, taking slight pleasure in another downed foe, before walking further into the forest. How fortunate for him that he had such good directions. "In a tree outside a village called Krujë." He almost felt like screaming in frustration. Bloody ghosts and their bloody, thousand year old directions!_

_ After what felt like ages of traversing through the forest, on the lookout for any indicators of a legendary magical artifact lying hidden for a thousand years, he stopped under a nearby tree, the full moon slightly illuminating his surroundings. He was almost considering using more specialized tracking magic, debating whether he could perform it and grab the Diadem before any curious Albanian Ministry Wizards showed up to investigate. In the end, he decided the risk was too great. But still, where could it be?!_

_ He was so close! So! Bloody! Close! He had followed the directions, as vague as they were, to a T. Where was the damn Diadem!? He walked forward a dozen more paces, hoping that he would sense something indicating its presence soon. Finally, at long last, he picked up on something in a nearby tree. A faint hint of magic- the kind denoting the use of concealing charms. Just as the Grey Lady had described. Eagerly, he strode forward, until he was leaning into the hole after unraveling the protective enchantments, impatient to see its contents. _

_Nothing. There had been something. At one time, it seemed. But it was gone now. His precious treasure, the legendary artifact he'd worked so hard to obtain- his efforts had nothing to show for it!_

_With a snarl, he wheeled around and a flash of crackling blue lightning shot forth from his wand and set a nearby tree ablaze. Subconsciously, he almost hoped the Ministry sent someone to investigate so they could experience his wrath. He stared at the blackened mark he had inadvertently created, breathing heavily as the flames licked at the weathered branches. Someone would pay for this! He would find the Diadem, and when he did, he would the person who had led him on this hunt. And then, they would die. In excruciating agony! At this point, he almost relished that prospect more than even finding the Diadem._

_ The scene shifted once more, though this time he was back safely in the castle. A glance at the nearby window and he deduced that he was pretty high up in the castle- probably sixth or seventh floor. He'd been here before- he was sure of that. This place was familiar. It was near that old classroom for… it was near some old classroom, he was certain of that. Right?_

_Of course he had been here before- the Room had proved invaluable over the years! And now it had one final task to fulfill. It was to serve as a fortress and a lure. A fortress for the most priceless of treasures, and lure for… well, the old fool was rumored to keep a diligent watch over the affairs of the castle. Either his path to immortality would stay here, forever undisturbed, or… well, he could safely say that he would be willing to trade a fraction of his soul to secure Albus Dumbledore's demise._

_And if he was indeed keeping watch, if he did have sentries on guard… Well, there was a reason why he was pacing in full view. He turned once again, and paced in front of the wall again. He repeated the process a third time, and was rewarded for his efforts. As he expected, the highly polished door appeared, and he strode through it with a smirk on his face. He had a limited amount of time to finish this task. If he took too long, perhaps the Headmaster would grow suspicious… and surely that was the worst of both possible worlds._

_Ten minutes. That was all he estimated he had to work with. But he could make that slim amount of time work. He was not the most powerful wizard who'd walked the Earth for nothing. Eyes alert and wand drawn, he strode into the room- it taking the form of the eternal wreckage room- eyes scanning for the perfect place to deposit his treasure. It couldn't be too conspicuous… if it looked like he'd actually made an effort to hide it, then if the old fool came lurking, he would never suspect… should the need arise, that is._

_He quickly strode far towards the back, Diadem tucked safely under his arm. No, he couldn't make this too simple. He cast his eyes around as he walked slowly and cautiously through the narrow rows… perfect! Smirking, he found a table far in the back, with an opened jewelry case innocently sitting upon it. Tossing the remains of the broken amber necklace aside, he rested the Diadem on the purple velvet case, before moving some of the objects around it to make it look more natural. Now for the final touch._

_He withdrew his wand and began carving runes into the stone floor below, willing the room to retain his changes. It was a constant struggle to prevent the room from repairing his additions- any with a lesser willpower would have failed-, but in the end, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, he obtained victory. Satisfied, he stepped back, and stopped concentrating, smirking quite viciously upon seeing that the runes had taken hold. It was a trap undetectable by all but the most specialized of means, and comprehensive enough to ensure that if his treasure were discovered, it's sacrifice would not be in vain._

_And now… yes, he still had time, just another minute or so… he began directing raw magic into his rune scheme, molding it to ensure his protections would be perfect. The second he finished, he reached inside his robes and withdrew a bottle of navy blue liquid, which he consumed in one gulp. A final flick of his wand moved some of the scattered furniture forward to cover up various parts of his runic protections, and he turned on his heel to start navigating out of the room, all the while laughing deliriously with his success…_

* * *

Harry woke suddenly to a still-darkened dorm room; everyone else was apparently sound asleep. After a moment or two of groggily staring at the top of his four-poster, he was finally aware of how heavily he was breathing. What in Merlin's name…? His breathing slowed back to normal as he struggled to remember the details of his dream. Feeling slightly calmer, he sat-up and threw off the covers, glancing around to make sure he hadn't disturbed any of his dorm mates. But that dream… It was familiar, and yet… so alien.

The first two parts of it were very familiar; events that had occurred just last week in fact. He could even remember what would have happened if the dream had continued on. For instance, he could remember dragging Ron away for a Stunners and Shield Charms duel after his frustrating conversation with Hermione. She could really be a grating bit… no, more important things to focus on. And after he and Ron had played chess, he could also remember spending the rest of his evening writing out some more thank you notes and reading through another of the books he had been sent, this one on the proper use of Transfiguration in duels. But the next part of the dream…

He'd- he'd never seen that ghost before in his time at Hogwarts. Well, maybe he'd passed her once in the corridors or something, but he'd never interacted with her. Never noticed her at all. Yet… now he knew her name was the Grey Lady… or Helena…- Ravenclaw?! Could that have really been…? Whether it was real or not, somehow, he now knew, with certainty, the name of a ghost he'd before heard of in his life. That was just scratching the surface, though.

He'd never been in that forest before, either. Never even imagined one like that could have even existed; he didn't get out a lot during his years at the Dursleys. Bloody hell, he couldn't even locate the town…-Karje, Kil- no, Krujë, was it?- on a map. It was somewhere in- where was it?-… Albania? Was that it? No wait, maybe it was Bulgaria- no, no, definitely Albania. Yes, that was it. Bloody hell though, he'd never even been out of the country. So… why was he imagining walking through a forest in Albania? Near a town he couldn't pronounce or place on a map? Looking for… something? Why in Merlin's name would he even dream about something like that?

And on top of that, he had no idea where that last room was. Or what in Merlin's Beard was going on. He didn't even think there was a room in the castle like that. He'd certainly never even seen it before. And those runes, carved into the floor… Idly, he moved his finger in a pattern resembling a couple of the runes.

Of course he'd had strange dreams before. The motorcycle dream when he was younger. And that weird one where he was attacked by a horde of rats for… ketchup, was it? But that was the thing; when he was younger he generally couldn't remember his dreams. But for the past few weeks, they stood out vividly. Like the one last night where…

"_Worthless! Disgusting! A Muggle in every sense of the word! Well now we'll see who's worthless! Goodbye, Father!" He called out mockingly as a jet of sickly green light erupted from his wand and was launched at a middle-aged man dressed in a fine dinner outfit._

_ "Where is the fucking cup you miserable cretin!?" He snarled at the House Elf straining under his pain curse before he finally let up once more so that it could answer. The elf shakily lifted its head and broke out in insufferable tears before he banished it into a wall._

_ "Slaughter them all!" He shouted to his army of shambling Inferi as they bore down on his enemies. Almost immediately, a flash of sudden orange fire appeared, heralding the arrival of the old phoenix, and the worthless bastard himself, Albus Dumbledore. "Good evening, Tom. I wish..."_

Wait. A. Moment! "Tom," He breathed into his hands in horror from his sudden realization. And… _"I am feeling very well, Tom… How goes your patrol."_ But did that mean… No, it couldn't be! It couldn't possibly mean tha-

_"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "How is it that you a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"_

_There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now._

_"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time ..._

_"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter . . . ."_

_He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:_

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

_Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:_

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

_"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"_

"It's not possible!" Harry muttered breathlessly to the otherwise quiet dormitory. He stared at his hands in horror. "Just because I… I know the name of Ravenclaw's house ghost, or what a forest outside some town in Albania looks like or…" He moved his finger through the air once more, "Or what a rune set looks like without ever seeing it doesn't mean… It can't mean…" But then again, hadn't Dumbledore told him just last year…

_"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you . . . . "_

_Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth._

_"Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said ..._

_"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"_

_"I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm - I'm in Gryffindor, I'm . . ."_

_But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind._

_"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd – I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ..._

_"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure ..._

_"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck._

_"It certainly seems so."_

"It certainly seems so," Harry repeated quietly. Was this what the Headmaster meant? Did he know… "_I am very much aware of the heavy burden I have placed upon your shoulders. If you find you ever need my aid-"_ Harry stood up suddenly, a plan quickly forming in his mind. "Lumos," He muttered, using the light to check the time on his wristwatch. Six. Early, but still… Almost without being aware of it, he marched over to his trunk to grab a set of clothes… and to find his Invisibility Cloak. It was time for another chat with the Headmaster. But first…

* * *

"I did not expect you to call upon me so early, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him pleasantly as he hurriedly entered the Headmaster's office. "What troubles you on this otherwise fine morning?"

"Professor, what is the name of Ravenclaw's house ghost?" Harry asked hurriedly, all pretenses of subtlety dropped in one foul swoop.

Dumbledore blinked, a rare expression of brief shock flickering across his face. It quickly disappeared as the Headmaster's expression shifted to one of polite neutrality. "The Grey Lady, Harry. I do not see…"

"In life," Harry interrupted quickly, a sinking feeling in his stomach, "Was she Helena Ravenclaw?"

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment- his bright blue eyes piercing through him, staring into his soul- before nodding delicately. "Indeed she was," He admitted, a mite of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He paused. "Harry, may I enquire-"

"And in life, did she… did she steal her mother's… Diadem?" Harry interrupted uncertainly, dreading the answer. This was it. This was the moment that could make or break him.

Dumbledore went very still, staring at him with uncharacteristic undisguised shock. "I can neither confirm or deny that, Harry," He admitted quietly, his expression transforming into a calculating look, "Though I suspect she may have. Unfortunately, I have only theories and rumors at my disposal to serve as an answer. And her ghost has proven most uncooperative. Why are you-"

"Do you remember when you told me last year that, er, Voldemort, er… transferred some powers to me?" Harry asked quietly. At the last word, he ducked his head, dreading the Headmaster's response.

At once, Dumbledore stood up and quickly strode towards him. Harry was so startled by his sudden movement that he leaned backwards and fell painfully off the chair. As Dumbledore moved past his desk, he drew his wand and pointed it steadily at Harry's head, an aura of power seemingly emanating from his body. "You know these things because Lord Voldemort knows them," Dumbledore concluded neutrally. Harry stared at him in horror, the pain of his sudden fall melting away, his eyes fixed on the wand. "Answer me!"

"Y-Yes."

Dumbledore stared at him, his wand still pointed. "Are you Harry Potter? Or another shade of Lord Voldemort?" He asked coldly. At once, the creeping doubts he'd been dealing with all morning bombarded his mind.

_"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter . . . ."_

_He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:_

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

_Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:_

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

"_Well now we'll see who's worthless! Goodbye, Father!"_

"_Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar."_

_"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck._

Dumbledore lowered his wand, staring at Harry cautiously. His eyes were suddenly alight as realization flashed across his face. "So that's how you survived," He whispered, wonder evident in his voice.

"Si-Sir," Harry asked, trembling slightly, dreading the Mad Headmaster's next move.

"But since you are still Harry Potter…" Dumbledore mused, Harry's protest apparently ignored, "Ah… Then perhaps… *it* became a meal for the Dementor. Which means…" He stared down, a small smile of appreciation slowly forming on his face. "Please retake your seat, Harry." Harry stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "I'm afraid I initially jumped to the wrong conclusion. Now please retake your seat. There is much to discuss, and our time grows ever shorter."

Slowly, as if the Headmaster were about to lunge forward again, Harry clambered back onto his seat. Even knowing it wouldn't do him much good, his hand stealthily closed around his wand which had remained in his robe pocket. At very least he could put up a token fight. Right?

Dumbledore retook his seat, staring mournfully at Harry. He opened and closed his mouths several times in succession before he finally resumed speaking. "I'm sure you must have wondered- as did most people following the story- how exactly it was that you survived the Dementor's Kiss," Dumbledore began slowly. Despite what he had just experienced, and still with a hint of trepidation in his body, Harry leaned forward in his seat. "That question perplexed me as well… until this morning."

"You see, when I told you, at the end of last year, that Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to you, I neglected to mention some necessary details." Dumbledore's bright blue eyes locked into Harry's own. "I felt you were unready to hear them… just as I felt it unwise to disclose the prophecy before my hand was forced by your recent attack. But that time has passed. You see, on the night when Voldemort killed your parents and attempted to kill you, he did not transfer his powers. He transferred instead, a piece of his soul."

Harry blinked, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just been told. A piece of his sou- "I'm sorry, sir? What are yo-"

"Do you remember the nature of the Diary that contained the Shade of Tom Riddle?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "How it could, more or less, scheme, act for itself, even reach outside the confines of the Diary to possess the mind of another? In other words, how it possessed a semblance of what might be referred to as consciousness?" Harry nodded slowly, his mind whirling. "For years now, I have been pondering over the secret of Lord Voldemort's apparent immortality. At the end of last year's adventure, you put the Diary into my possession. While my research over the summer was inconclusive, the details I learned were suggestive. Lord Voldemort apparently split his soul and placed a piece of it into the Diary for safekeeping."

"What?"

"The result is known as a Horcrux, Harry. Through the act of murder, the soul can be split, and the fragments placed into other vessels to achieve immortality of a sort. It is why Lord Voldemort did not perish, and why you in fact came face to face with the Shade of him that inhabited poor Quirinus's body during your First Year." He took a breath, suddenly looking quite old. "However, such… destruction of the soul is… to say the least… chaotic. The soul was never meant to be split in such a manner, especially for such a horrifically evil purpose. If what I suspect is true- and mind you, these are all suspicions at best- then he must have created more."

"Sir, I really don't understand what you're talking about," Harry replied quietly, uncertainly lacing his tone, wondering if he should try and make a break for it before the Headmaster drew his wand again. One the other hand, even if he didn't understand everything the Headmaster was saying, it was starting to make some sense…

"An act of murder irreparably damages your soul Harry. The creation of a Horcrux uses the damage from such an evil act as a method to achieve immortality. For Voldemort… who has always feared and despised death… who has always sought a way to conquer it… one was most likely perceived as insufficient. If one causes such damage… rends the soul apart, what would happen if the process were repeated?" Dumbledore shook his head slightly, as if to clear away the cobwebs. "The soul becomes unstable. As I was saying, on the night when he killed your parents and attempted to kill you, his failed curse must have caused further damage to his already unstable soul. The result was that a part of it split off and latched onto the only other thing in the room that could support it. You."

Harry's eyes went wide as he finally understood what point the Headmaster had been trying to make. "Me? Are you sure? I mean, this is why I know…"

"Not exactly. As a matter of fact, it has been known to me since that terrible Halloween that a piece of Voldemort's soul attached itself to you. Through that scar. It is why I made certain you stayed at your Aunt's home, as much as you may have hated it," Dumbledore explained. "You see, two souls have never inhabited one body to that degree. There is no precedent, no similar case in all the history I examined. The result was that I was operating blindly, so to speak. However, your mother's love- the protection she bestowed upon you- was apparently preventing the fragment of his soul from corrupting your body and possessing you. As I suspect would have happened otherwise." At Dumbledore's statement everything in the room seemed to go still. "Since this protection seemed to be the only thing preventing full-blown possession," Harry had a sudden image of the shade of Tim Riddle standing over Ginny's unconscious body, "I decided the correct course of action was to try to keep it strengthened as much as possible. This is where your Aunt and your living arrangements enter the picture. No matter how uncomfortable it was, no matter how much you and she despised the arrangement … I used all my power and influence to continue it. The possible alternative seemed far worse." The Headmaster gave him a moment to digest his morbid statement before he continued.

"Which brings us back to the Dementor and your recent… visions… for lack of a better word. When the Dementor attacked, it aimed to suck out your soul. The fears and unhappiness of two souls in one body would have made you a rather irresistible delicacy to it, I suspect. As fortune would have it though, the creature instead apparently consumed the piece of Lord Voldemort's soul that had been with you for so long," Dumbledore paused delicately. "Leaving the residue."

"So I had a piece of his soul in my body, and… it's gone now?" Dumbledore nodded curtly. The panic subsided momentarily, and Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he realized something was amiss. "Residue?" He repeated quietly.

"Indeed, Harry. The fragment of Lord Voldemort in your scar originally allowed you to, say, communicate with all manner of snakes, and to detect when he was near. However, now that it has gone, much remains in his wake," Dumbledore concluded solemnly.

"What exactly remains?" Harry asked quickly.

"Harry, I would like to preface this explanation by saying that my theories are just that, theories." Harry nodded, waiting for the Headmaster to get to the point. "That being said, I would speculate that your recent visions are part of it."

He paused, before gently leaving his seat and walking over to a nearby bookshelf. He leafed through it before pulling out a brown leather-bound tome. Harry watched him suspiciously, wary of being suddenly attacked again. "While discussing the nature of the soul and its relation to magic is one that I suspect would yield little reward and much in the way of headaches, there is some we can speculate."

He returned to his seat and laid the tome on the desk for Harry to see. "This is a book by a former colleague of mine, Augustus Reordian. He was attempting to dissect the nature of how and why wizards and witches can use magic and what, if any, limits there were to its potential in power. As had many before him; he is hardly the first to tackle such questions. However, Reordian attempted to focus on the nature of the relationship between the soul and magic after discussing why those "kissed" by a Dementor can apparently no longer use it. I shall attempt to spare you the details, but as Reordian suggests, and I agree somewhat, that the soul houses magical potential to some degree."

"For instance, the fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul allowed you to speak Parseltongue, which is normally a hereditary gift. However…" Dumbledore raised his wand and a small green garden snake appeared on his desk. "Can you still communicate with it?"

Harry stared at it. "Hi?" Is what he meant to say, but it instead escaped his mouth as a hiss. Dumbledore vanished the snake and nodded his head thoughtfully. "This is what I was talking about. Even though the piece of his soul is gone, you are still a Parselmouth." He shifted in his chair. "Have you noticed, perhaps in Charms or Transfiguration, if your ability to use magic seems stronger or weaker?"

Harry nodded. "It does seem a bit stronger, especially with Transfiguration. I always had trouble with it in the past, but now it seems so much easier. Professor McGonagall even told me that I was starting to do as well as my father had," He admitted softly. As a matter of fact, he was the only one to achieve a complete teapot to tortoise transfiguration last class. He had received ten points for his feat, even though the tortoise's shell still appeared to be made of glass.

"Indeed. Though it could be that there are no longer two different souls attempting to will your magic in two different directions," Dumbledore suggested shrewdly. "The point still stands though. You are still a Parselmouth, and your use of magic seems to be, to some degree at least, stronger. But then there is the matter of the visions you apparently received. Which I suspect are in fact memories. If I might ask, what exactly did you see that prompted you to come to me, Harry?"

"Er, well, I've seen… some things over the past couple of weeks, but… well, last night," He confessed. "Er, I dreamed- no, saw, I guess, a conversation between the Grey Lady and Voldemort discussing the Diadem. Her Diadem." Dumbledore's eyebrows rose and he suddenly leaned forward slightly. "And then I watched him journey around Albania to try and track it down?"

"And did he?" Dumbledore asked immediately.

"Well, the Grey Lady told him it was in a tree in Albania outside a village… Krujë, was it? But when he got there, and found the right tree, it was gone. Yet… in the last memory, he had found it," Harry admitted confusedly.

"Did he? Where did he leave it?" Dumbledore asked, already on his feet, his wand drawn once more. "This is important, Harry! Can you remember-"

"Er, it's actually here. At Hogwarts." Dumbledore looked stunned. "There's a room on the seventh floor, that you… well, have to be in need to use. Basically, if you walk in front of it three times thinking about what you need, it will appear. Voldemort discovered it… I think in his fourth year, and hid it there, during… a job interview. Yeah, I think that was why he was in the castle…"

The look of stunned disbelief was gone, replaced by a calculating look. "Indeed he was. He applied to become the Defense Against the Professor almost two decades ago, and during that interview he must have…" He trailed off, a faraway look appearing in his eye. "Come Harry. Let us go dispatch it while the hour is still young."

Harry waved his arms frantically. "Wait, Sir!" Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at Harry. "It's trapped!" He explained quickly. The Headmaster was immediately alert. "He, well, he thought you might find it. Maybe even counted on it. Anyway, he rigged some protective wards in the room. He, er, he said he'd be willing to trade a piece of his soul for your death." Perhaps in spite of himself, Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "If you try and destroy it in the room, I think the ceiling will collapse and kill you, and if you try and leave with it, the room… disappears. For lack of a better word. You're supposed to eventually die of starvation or thirst that way. He didn't really know exactly, but he was certain that you'd be dead either way. The only way to do it safely is to grab the Diadem, move it near the door, leave the room, and then destroy it inside the room. He left that safeguard just in case he ever wanted to recover the Diadem and use it."

"Ah. Ingenious. Yes, he would have known that either I'd be hasty in trying to destroy it, or I would attempt to remove it for further study." Dumbledore stared off in quiet contemplation. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. "Very well. Come Harry. Time is surely of the essence, and we will both sleep better with another piece of his soul gone from this world!"


End file.
